


Risqué

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Insecurity, Lingerie, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 11:57:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You want new lingerie, but you think nothing looks good on you. Beetlejuice shows up and changes your mind.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You
Comments: 17
Kudos: 266





	Risqué

**Author's Note:**

> A request was received: a nsfw fic of Beetlejuice trying (and succeeding) to seduce a self conscious female reader who is trying on lingerie? [Thanks for the awesome request; it was a joy to write!]

No.

No.

No _way._

No.

Nothing was ever right!

You sighed in frustration and your eyes started to burn, a precursor to tears. You sniffed heavily and wiped an angry hand over your face to try and stymie them. 

Like he was an especially attuned dog, Beetlejuice popped up behind you. You didn’t know if he was basically a stalker or what, but he always seemed quicker to appear when you were miserable. Like a reverse incubus, it was if he couldn’t stay away when you felt horrible, like he was reveling in your gloom and dismay.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. The ghost liked to make random appearances, yes, and if it seemed like it was when you were having a hard time it was because--again like a dog--he didn’t like you being upset. You were just feeling so down at the moment you weren’t thinking straight. 

“Hey, babydoll, what’s up?” he asked loudly, as if the two of you were standing in your bedroom and not the dressing room of a department store. His eyes widened as he saw you were naked. “Oh baby--that’s what I like!”

“Not now, Beej,” you told him, dropping your head so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. 

That move was a mistake, because it made those tears fall.

He didn’t miss seeing that. 

“Hey, hey--” he said, taking your shoulders and spinning you to face him. You didn’t look up. “Baby, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” you lied, then repeated it, as if that would make it true. “Nothing!”

The ghost narrowed his eyes and when you glanced up at him, you saw he was taking in everything in the small room. Pieces of clothing were on hangers or tossed onto the ottoman that was supposed to serve as a chair. A couple of bits of fabric were simply left where you’d dropped them, in messy heaps on the floor. 

You crossed your arms over your chest despondently as you saw a lewd grin start on his face. This was not how you imagined this afternoon was going to turn out.

“Babydoll--are you trying on lingerie? Are you trying on sexy clothing--for _me?”_ he asked. 

“No!” you contradicted. “I’m not trying on any more! None of it looks good on me!”

The grin morphed to pursed lips as Beetlejuice considered this. “I doubt that’s true, babes.”

He grabbed your hips and swayed a little to some music that only he heard, making you sway with him. You didn’t help; you didn’t even uncross your arms. 

“It is true!” you insisted. “Nothing is right--I hate lingerie, and I hate--”

You stopped yourself from saying what was really on the tip of your tongue. Beetlejuice could figure it out on his own, you told yourself.

He grunted his disagreement. Reaching out to a bit of satin that was on a hanger, he rubbed it between two grimy fingers. 

“Who cares about this stuff anyway?” he dismissed. “It just ends up on the floor in a couple of minutes.”

Sighing, you knew there was no way to make him understand. You whispered, _“I_ care . . .”

Beetlejuice ‘hmph’ed’ but didn’t continue to deride whether lingerie was important or not. Instead, he gave your hips a squeeze, then stepped past you to shove the discarded clothing on the hard ottoman to the floor so he could sit down.

“Okay, babydoll. Show me.”

“What?!”

“Show me,” he repeated, with a wave of his hand. “Gimme a fashion show. Let me see what you look like in this stuff.”

Immediately you flushed. Okay, yes, you’d wanted to get some new sexy undergarments to show off to him, but not in a harshly lit dressing room of a busy department store with random strangers in the other rooms! You wanted it to be a surprise, with some strategically placed soft lighting and privacy!

“Beej, I don’t know . . .”

“I do. Come on, put something on.”

“I already told you nothing looks right!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The ghost looked like he was ready to take up permanent residence in this tiny stall. You were tempted to try and wait him out, but he’d planted his feet on the clothes you’d worn in and he was dead, so he had all the time in the world and then some. 

“Here. Put this on for me,” he said, scooping a random slip of clothing off the floor and holding it out to you. 

You sighed and gave up. There was no plain refusal when it came to him being insistent. Taking what he offered, you stepped into the white ruffled pair of boyshorts panties and pulled them up. While you were bent over, you grabbed the matching bra and slipped into it as well. Once everything was in place, you tugged the panties to a more comfortable position and scrutinized yourself in the mirror instead of looking at him. You still hated it. 

Finally though, you couldn’t help but glance over at the ghost. 

That leer had returned. 

“That’s hot, babydoll,” he told you, sincerely. 

You looked in the mirror again. “No it’s not,” you disagreed, and were meticulous in telling him why. “The cups don’t fit right, so my boobs don’t look good. The straps are too tight, but this is supposed to be my size. I don’t like the way the ruffles kind of go out instead of laying flat. I look awful in this!”

Beetlejuice cocked his head like he was trying to see what you saw, then shrugged. “Okay, then. How about that?”

He pointed to a maroon teddy you thought might have been fun to try on. It looked good on the model wearing it on its tag. 

“Ugh, no!”

“Babe . . .” 

Because you knew he could be a needling pest, you sighed again and took off the bra and panty set. Grabbing the teddy, you shimmied into it. 

The lace was scratchy and the cut on the hips was too high. It didn’t have enough support for your boobs, plus there were only ribbons to tie the front of the cups shut, so once again you self-consciously crossed your arms over your chest. 

Beetlejuice gave this one a little more scrutiny. That didn’t make you feel any better. 

After what seemed like an eternity of him staring at you, he said, “It that crotchless?”

You nodded, and it felt like the lace in your crotch became extra annoying. 

“That’s almost perfect,” he announced.

Oh god. You glanced over yourself, wondering what it was he disliked about it. You knew what _you_ didn’t like; there must be something that you hadn’t noticed, like too much of your back was showing, or the high hips were especially unflattering--

Beetlejuice clicked his tongue, and the color of the entire piece faded away to be replaced with vertical black and white stripes. 

A snort of mortified laughter escaped you. 

“Absolutely no way!” you blurted. “There is no way I’m wearing stripes! Not horizontal, not vertical--I swear to god I will send you back right now if you don’t change fix this, Beej!”

With a disappointed scowl, he waved his hand and the lingerie was back to its original color. 

“You’re no fun,” he groused. 

“You’re _obsessed,”_ you countered. 

“Guilty as charged,” he agreed easily, and you had to shake your head with a smile. 

This time you didn’t give him the opportunity to demand the next piece of lingerie for you to try on. You took the one you thought might look passable on you, dropped the teddy and kicked it into the corner of the dressing room, and pulled on the looser, babydoll-styled piece.

It fell into place, hitting just the tops of your thighs. Once again the fabric was a little itchy, due to a fine metallic thread woven into it that caught the light. The straps over your shoulders were a little tight too, but not the worst. You did like the additional styling on the high waist line, and the way it flared out and didn’t hug you too tightly. 

You picked up the hem and let it float back against your legs. You still didn’t like exactly where it hit, thinking it drew too much attention to an area you weren’t especially happy with. You looked for the panties that were meant to go with it, but didn’t see them. When it dawned on you that there’d been no response from your audience, you stopped analyzing yourself in the mirror and looked over at Beetlejuice. 

You caught him drawing his thumb over his lower lip, taking you in with dark eyes. Now a new look had come to him. If you were required to put a name on his expression, you’d call it unbridled, borderline scary, lust. 

Unselfconsciously, he dropped a hand to his crotch and adjusted himself. He cleared his throat to say, 

“That color is perfect.”

You looked down yourself again. You’d never thought of yourself as looking good in blood red.

“That one . . .” He cleared his throat again. “That’s the one, babydoll. You look so fucking sexy.”

It was your automatic reaction to scoff and deflect the praise, but Beetlejuice held up a hand to interrupt you.

“Come over here,” he ordered.

It only took two steps to be in front of him. 

You watched his gaze travel over your body and only with great effort did you not cover yourself again. He licked his lips and took your waist again. His grip was a little too tight, and you knew him well enough to know that was another indicator he was turned on; he liked to hold you like he thought someone might come along at that exact moment and sweep you away. When he looked up at your face again, you also knew the expression there incredibly well. 

“Beej, no!” you whispered with a bit of panic in your voice. “We are not getting it on in this dressing room!”

“Baby,” he replied, “you’re so hot, I just wanna--I just wanna--”

“Beej . . .”

A sly smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Why don’t you just sit here for a moment, hmm? Just sit right here on my lap--”

Smoothly, he maneuvered you closer. You should be firm. You should insist that this was inappropriate, and there would be a very good chance you’d get caught and thrown out of the store and possibly even arrested! But it was nice to see how much you’d turned him on, and against your better judgement, you moved so you were straddling his lap. 

“Right here, baby, lemme see how that fabric looks spread out a little--”

You eased onto his legs. Never wanting to put your full weight on him if you could avoid it, you balanced on the balls of your feet to hold yourself up. 

Beetlejuice wasn’t having it. His grip moved to the small of your back, and he pulled you forward, so you settled right up against him, almost belly to belly. With your legs spread to accommodate his hips, there was no mistaking the bulge under his fly.

He stared directly at your chest. 

“This is nice, baby,” he cooed. 

Sometimes when his voice dropped the gravelly quality of it made you shiver. He noticed, and smirked. 

“You like this, doll? _I_ like this--I like this color on you, I like the way the fabric is just tight enough to emphasize your tits but thin enough that I can see your nipples, I especially like that it’s open at the bottom so there’s nothing covering your pussy,” he said indecently, in the same low timbre. 

You licked your lips. You were wearing practically nothing, but suddenly this dressing room was too hot.

Confident you were going to stay in place on his lap, Beetlejuice released your back. He brought his hands forward to cup your breasts, running his thumbs over your fabric covered nipples. They tightened, forming hard points that he immediately gave gentle twists to.

You gasped. 

“Shh, shh--” he cautioned, “--don’t wanna get anyone suspicious!”

But instead of stopping, instead of taking the responsibility that he himself was the one causing the problem, Beetlejuice pinched your nipples again. He darted his head forward, snake-like quick; you were familiar with the movement and only _just_ stopped him from grabbing a nipple between his teeth. 

“Beej, no!” you ordered in a hiss. “This isn’t _mine!”_

He growled in frustration but obeyed, but went back to the scandalous talk.

“It doesn’t matter this lingerie isn’t yours,” he whispered. “We can try to keep it as clean as possible, but I can feel the heat of your pussy on my dick and I know how wet you’re getting. You gonna leave a wet spot on the front of my pants? Are you gonna be able to not finger yourself if I leave you here right now?”

That last question startled you because no, damn it, he worked you up so much you’d just half-accepted the two of you were going to get down and dirty here!

Beetlejuice saw the shocked expression on your face and laughed.

“Oh, so you _wouldn’t_ be able to not get yourself off, huh? Well then, maybe I should help you with that--”

With that, he shoved a hand between you. To your disappointment, it wasn’t to touch you. To your shameful delight, it was to work open the button and fly of his trousers, and ease his cock out. For once you didn’t rib him on the fact he preferred to go commando under his pants.

Puzzled, you shifted backwards to give him some room. “You’re not just going to make your pants disappear?” you asked, with a vague wave of your hand. 

He looked up at you like you were insane. “We’re in a _women’s dressing room,_ babe. What if someone catches us? No way I’m gonna be nude if I’ve gotta blitz out of here.”

The dry, serious tone he adopted to tell you that made you slap his chest as you laughed. He shushed you again. You knew him well enough that being caught was _not_ a big concern for him. He was just being a brat.

Holding his cock at the base between you, Beetlejuice jerked his head and raised his eyebrows, and again, you knew him well enough to read the insinuation--

“Hop on for a quickie?” he whispered, confirming what you knew he implied. 

When you didn’t respond quickly enough, he pushed the loose fabric of the lingerie you were wearing up to your belly, bunching it there so you could see everything he did, and gave himself a stroke. He licked his lips and repeated the motion, a small groan escaping him as he did.

“Come on babe,” he urged. “You sitting on my lap looking so hot? I’d love to fuck you, but if you’re too worried about getting caught, I’m gonna jerk myself off. How’re you gonna put that sexy piece of clothing back on the rack if it’s got my jizz on it?”

As if to prove the seriousness of his threat, his hand moved more quickly on his shaft. 

You truly enjoyed watching him pleasure himself, because it exposed him in more ways than he would probably like to know. It was different than having mutual sex with him; that was excellent too but it was easy to get overwhelmed with your own physical reactions instead of concentrating on him. But watching him masturbate, hearing the tiny sounds of self-pleasure from him, seeing his jaw get looser and looser as his core and legs got tighter as he approached climax--all of that really turned you on. 

He knew that.

So his threat of coming on the front of the lingerie you were wearing was mostly hollow, because he knew that it wouldn’t take too much for you to get impatient and finally agree to his suggestion. 

In only a few moments you felt flushed and sluttily desperate. 

“Well?” he grinned, swiping the head of his cock with his thumb. 

“Yes, okay!” you groaned.

“That’s my girl!” Beetlejuice praised. “Come up here again--this is gonna be so good--”

At his instruction, you stood up a little. He grabbed you under the legs, near your ass, to position you correctly, then licked his hand, gave his cock a swipe while he held it steady, and told you to lower yourself.

Although there’d been no traditional foreplay up to this point, you rocked down onto him. With a tiny burn of resistance that felt glorious, his cock split and entered you. Your gasp was sharp, and Beetlejuice grabbed your wrist, raised your hand and put it, palm side to your lips, to muffle yourself. 

“If you’re gonna be noisy, better keep that there,” he warned, but his voice was strained too.

You nodded and kept your hand clamped to your mouth as he let your wrist go.

“Good, that’s good, baby--” he praised, taking your hips and upper thighs again. 

The loose material of the lingerie hid where you were joined, but that didn’t matter. Beetlejuice demonstrated how he wanted you to move by lifting your hips and rocking himself up into you, then letting you relax before doing it again. The position kept his cock seated deep inside you. Once you understood the extent that he wanted you to move--which wasn’t much--you took over the rhythm yourself, raising yourself up minutely before settling back into the cup of his lap. 

With his face planted in the side of your neck and keeping his voice low, Beetlejuice murmured dirty praise.

“Fuck, baby, just like that--your pussy feels so good! You’re so wet, you’re so _hot_ around my cock--fuck--a little more, _a little more,_ perfect! _Ohhh fuck_ I love your cunt--”

You couldn’t help but squeak a little each time you dropped back down on him. His grip became even tighter but you couldn’t even think about the possibility he was going to leave bruises, or worse, ruin the fabric he was bunching in his hands. He was right; this felt so good, so debauched to be fucking here, where the walls were thin and other people were literally just feet away.

On one downward stroke you squeezed your pussy around him and he jerked back, slamming into the wall behind him, looking at you with wild eyes. You managed a smile behind your hand, but what you’d done spurred him and he planted his feet to have more leverage to shove up into you.

That pulled you off balance and you fell forward onto his chest. He didn’t stop; now that he had more freedom to move he continued to fuck you at a faster pace, with more thrusting. The position also tipped your pelvis which put more direct pressure on your clit, making pleasure spike upward into your gut. It was your turn to bury your face in his neck and shoulder, and you panted hotly onto his skin.

“Baby--oh fuck--” he groaned.

Through the panting, you grabbed a chunk of his skin to steady yourself, and that made him lose his words and keen instead.

He stilled for a second, held in place between your teeth, his hands on your hips, and his cock in your pussy. Then, with an involuntary buck and further keening wheeze, his entire body tensed as he came.

The bridge of his body pressed strongly on your clit and it couldn’t be true but you would’ve sworn you felt his cock pulse his release into you. Your pleasure almost peaked, you were just ready to topple over the edge of ecstacy, and he relaxed with a groan.

You continued to pant. Under you, Beetlejuice trembled and finally, pushed himself back upright. 

“Jesus, baby,” he croaked in a dry voice. 

You gave him a slight smile.

He swallowed, then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Oh shit. You didn’t come, did you?”

You shook your head and dropped your eyes

“Shit. Shit!”

Now it was your turn to shush him. “Beej. Beej! Shhh! It’s okay, it’s okay, you can make it up to me later--”

“I’ll make it up to you!” he said, as if he hadn’t heard you. He took your shoulders so you had no choice but to look at him. “Promise, babe. You buy this sexy-ass outfit, and I am going to ravish you every time you wear it. It’ll get to the point that you’re gonna get wet just putting it on, like a Pavlovian response, you know? From all the times I’m gonna make you come in it--”

His voice got louder towards the end of his vow, and you hurriedly kissed him on the mouth to shut him up. He returned it eagerly, and with that plus the fact you were still sitting atop him, his cock still deep inside you, you believed him.

You let the kiss linger for a moment, then carefully stood up off of him. The wet spot he’d mentioned earlier on the front of his trousers was wide and obvious and you knew he didn’t care the least bit about it. Carefully you pulled the somehow unspoiled but slightly wrinkled babydoll lingerie over your head, slipped it over a hanger, and wiggled back into your street clothes. That was made slightly difficult as Beetlejuice kept pinching you, until you batted him away and shoo’ed him off.

He left as silently as he’d arrived, blowing you a saucy kiss as he disappeared. 

You looked at the state of the mess the dressing room was still in, with discarded scraps of lingerie everywhere. Beetlejuice felt so guilty you probably should have made him straighten it up! And, if you sniffed deeply, there was the underlying odor of sex lingering in the tiny room. 

Oh well.

Quickly you threw everything back together, ignored if it was hanging crooked, and put everything but the one piece on a rack outside the door. 

Just as you took a step towards the checkout counter, a gravelly voice whispered close to your ear, 

“Hurry up babe--I’m ready for round two!”

Beetlejuice was nowhere to be seen, but you rushed to complete your purchase and get the heck home. 

_fin!_


End file.
